


Santa Claus is Coming to Town

by spikesgirl58



Series: Twenty Five Days of Christmas [12]
Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-20 23:14:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuck in the middle of the Sahara, the best either man can hope for is a swift death.  Do you hear sleighbells?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Santa Claus is Coming to Town

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RachaelJurassic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RachaelJurassic/gifts).



 “I’m… dreaming… of… a white… Chris…”  The word stuck sideways in Napoleon’s throat.  He’d collapse where he stood, but Illya was keeping him upright.  It was only fair as Napoleon was doing the same for him.

Napoleon didn’t know how long they had been wandering.  Three days, he thought, but it was really anyone’s guess.  Their entire world revolved around a single canteen of water.  They’d made it last for almost two days, taking tiny sips to wet their parched throats and cracked lips.  It was gone now.

Their fanciful burnooses, made of a couple of Napoleon’s dress shirts had kept most of the sun’s punishing rays from them, but even those couldn’t prevent the dehydration. 

Napoleon’s vision swam as he looked over the red dunes towards the horizon.  Even a pack of THRUSH would be welcome now.

“Napoleon?”  Illya’s voice was a rough approximation of his usual tone.  He coughed a little and wiped his mouth.  Napoleon looked to see if there was blood, but there wasn’t.  They’d both been lucky or so he initially thought.  The pilot and co-pilot were killed instantly while he and Illya suffered just a few cuts and scrapes.  Now it seemed perhaps the others were lucky in that their deaths had been fast.

“Yes, Illya?”

“What do you want Santa to bring you this year?”

The absurdity of the question made Napoleon pause and then laugh, just a little.   He was so weak and so tired, yet the thought gave him a jolt of badly-needed mirth.

“Why do you ask?”

“By my reckoning, it’s Christmas Eve.”

“Well, I’d been hoping for a new suit or even a couple of silk ties, but right now I’d give it all away for a nice little oasis with food and drink.  Lacking that, a bucket of cool water would be great.”

“Yeah.”  And Illya dropped.  Napoleon lacked the strength to catch him and ended up on the burning sand with him.

“Illya?  Come on, partner, we need to keep moving.  We can’t stop here.”

There was a murmur from the man and an attempt, but it wasn’t enough.  Napoleon didn’t know where he found the strength to get back to his feet, and where he found the ability to haul the unconscious Kuryakin to his feet was even more mystifying. 

Napoleon managed a few more yards up a dune, but, as he crested it, the sand shifted and brought him down again.  He was just so tired.

That’s when he saw it – a blur on the horizon.  He blinked and looked away, convinced it was a mirage.  When Napoleon looked back, it was still there. 

“Illya!  Illya, come on, buddy!”

His excitement jolted Illya from unconsciousness into a stupor, but a stupor that would at least partially support him.  Napoleon dragged his partner to his feet and got an arm around his waist.  He got under Illya’s arm and they moved forward.

With every step, Napoleon expected the vision to vanish but it didn’t and, after what seemed a century, they stumbled into the shade of a date tree.  Immediately, it felt thirty degrees cooler.  Napoleon settled Illya against its trunk and stumbled through the tall reeds to discover a pool of water.

It looked fine and Napoleon didn’t see any dead animals around.  “It isn’t like we have a choice, is it, partner?”  He knelt and scooped a handful of water into his mouth.  It was sweet and cold and Napoleon decided he’d never tasted anything as good.  He took another drink and then filled the canteen.  Taking off the burnoose, he poured the water over his head and sighed.

Refilling the canteen, he carried it to Illya’s side and let the water drip on Illya’s face.  The blood-shot blue eyes cracked open and then shut in pleasure as the water trickled over his reddened skin.

Napoleon helped him sit up a bit straighter and drink.  They both knew to drink slowly at first.

“What is this place?”

“An oasis.  We have water, food, and shade, so this must be paradise.”

“Paradise without escape is a prison.”

Napoleon knew Illya was right.  They had no way of letting UNCLE know of their whereabouts. Their communicators weren’t working for some reason.  He didn’t even know if the pilot had gotten off an SOS.   They were as effectively trapped here as if they were being held in a THRUSH prison.

“Well.” Napoleon licked his lips and took another drink.  “At least we have each other.”

                                                                                ****

Napoleon woke shivering.  The heat of the day had been exchanged for the chill of the night.  He sat up and concentrated.  He’d thought he’d heard something.  Although they both were still armed, neither of them was in a condition to put up much of a fight.

He heard it again.  An odd jingling noise, like spurs… or Christmas bells.  There was movement against the dark sky and his mouth dropped open.

“Illya!  Illya, wake up!  You have got to see this.”  The Russian didn’t wake and Napoleon felt a jolt of panic.  He grabbed Illya’s wrist and felt for a pulse.  It was there, but it wasn’t strong. 

The noise was getting louder and Napoleon pulled Illya to him and headed for the protection of the reed grass.

He watched, panting, as a sleigh pulled by eight reindeer landed.  The first one took a drink at the pool and then moved along for the next one.

A large, red-suited man climbed from the sleigh and looked directly at Napoleon.  “You can come out, Napoleon, I wouldn’t harm you.”

“Um…”

“Yes, I know.  I get that all the time, but you, you never quite lost your belief in me.  That’s what called me to you,” Santa said as one of the reindeer looked at him and bleated.  “I know, Dasher, I know.  We’re running late.”  Quietly, Santa murmured to Napoleon, “That reindeer can be such a nag.”  Dasher snort and Santa chuckled.  “So, tell me, Napoleon, what would you like for Christmas?”

Napoleon looked at Illya, brushing sweaty limp hair from Illya’s forehead.  “For myself, nothing, Santa.  I got what I asked for – an oasis.  But could you take Illya with you?  He needs a hospital.  He’s going to die in a few hours if you don’t.”

Santa laughed, holding his tummy as it jiggled.  “Wish granted, Napoleon.”

Suddenly Santa was hugging Napoleon, his face full of love and peace.  Napoleon felt himself growing tired, too tired to stay awake.  He fought against it, but he was too weak and finally he succumbed.

                                                                                ****

Napoleon rolled over and winced at a pinch in his arm.  He opened an eye and then frowned at the IV.  It took a moment for the thought to make it through the cotton filling his head, but then he woke and looked around.  He was in Medical… but that was impossible.

Illya was sleeping in a hospital bed next to him, an IV pumping fluid into him.  The same as…

“There you are, Mr. Solo.  You gave us quite a fright.”  Mr. Waverly was standing at his bedside, holding his hat before him and looking kindly.  “You’re safe and sound in New York.”

“But how?  Sir, we were in the Sahara…  There was a crash… and we walked for days, then we found an oasis…  I’m confused, sir.”  Napoleon left out any mention of Santa.  He already sounded insane. 

Mr Waverly harrumphed.  “There seems to be a lot of that going around here today.  We lost radar on your plane over the Sahara and were tracking you.  Then I received a call this morning that you were in Reception.  The receptionist had secured the front entrance in order to go powder her nose and when she returned, the two of you were there, unconscious, but alive.  She was at a loss to explain it and the security cameras showed nothing.  There was a momentary glitch and there you both were.”  Waverly looked over at the still-slumbering Russian.  “Perhaps Mr. Kuryakin…”

“I doubt it, sir.  He was even more out of it than I was.”

“Well, in any event, you are back with us.  Get some rest, young man.”  Waverly turned to leave then paused.  “Happy Christmas, Mr. Solo.”

“And to you and yours, sir.”  Napoleon watched Waverly left, drawing the door closed behind him. Out of habit, Napoleon slid his hand, the one without the IV beneath his pillow to check for his gun.  Instead he felt something slender.  Pulling it out, Napoleon discovered a candy cane.  Attached to it was a note which read:  _Thank you for believing.  S. Claus. Merry Christmas!_

“Thank you, Santa.  Merry Christmas.”


End file.
